


The Feeling Never Really Goes

by BethylLivesOn



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Conflicting Feelings, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Vaginal Sex, Zombie Apocalypse, handjobs, hard feelings, mature content, mature feelings, unstable, young and old relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethylLivesOn/pseuds/BethylLivesOn
Summary: After the death of her brother, Alicia is hard to trust. Morgan brings her to a place he knows, and it's there that she realizes she isn't alone.FTWD & TWD Crossover
Relationships: Alicia Clark/Daryl Dixon, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, daryl Dixon&alicia clark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	The Feeling Never Really Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends!  
> I have not been able to get this pairing out of my mind. And while I haven't watched FTWD since season 3, I do adore Alicia. I watched some videos of her on YouTube of recent seasons, to get a feel of her character and I hope I was able to describe her well. I based this loosely off of the song "5AM" by Amber Run. I hope you enjoy! Please leave some love if you do ♥️ Stay healthy!

So much loss. Everywhere. In everything.

Mom. Nick. Everyone in between.

_It's too much._

She's alive, but her body is _dead_ and her soul seems so far gone, and life is becoming too _easy_. It's day up and day down, killing in between and rest after. It's not life, not anymore.

Sure, the world ended – but _her_ world ended.

Starts out simple, a brush with her shoulder as an answer, but it’s more than that now. She doesn’t remember the last time she spoke to someone in a way that wasn’t necessary. Absolutely can’t remember the last time she’d smiled. Done something out of wanting to do it. It was living without purpose. Numb. Like there was nothing tying her to the earth anymore and she didn’t care whether she was here or not.

He notices, so Morgan asks her to come with him. Some place he says is _better_ , better than _this_ anyway. Tells her about it. Tells her about the homes and the farming, the cattle, and the children. She doubts it fiercely and she even _laughs_ at him when he suggests it, but when she's had her chuckle, she realizes that he's _serious_ , and maybe he does really know this place.

But she's alone now. By herself. Shouldn't she just continue this way? Would make everyone's lives better, she's sure. Shouldn’t put her burden on somebody else, bring them down into her hole with her. It isn’t a place to be – knows no one should _want_ to be here.

She isn't trusted by anyone, not anymore. She's too volatile – too unwell, too tense, quick to act and people are _scared_.

Scared of _her_.

They're right to be. She's impulsive. Set off too easily. Not that she cares. Nothing bothers her. Because why should it? She’s lost everything, and every bit of meaning this world had left in her life is gone, and it’s just so miserably _meaningless_.

It's not her fault though, because again - she's alone. Her family is dead. _All_ of them, and she's completely and utterly lonely.

Chris, Travis…Mom. Nick.

For the first time in her life, she’s alone.

So when Morgan asks her to come with him and she laughs, she realizes that she _has_ to. If she doesn’t, she knows she'll die too. Maybe she wants to. He sees it – she knows. He can see her impulsiveness, see her losing care to everything. Going off the deep end, as some would say.

She knows the people he speaks of, if only through him. Knows it's where he came from, that he still communicates with them. Knows he too, misses them.

So, she agrees. Says she'll go, not even truly sure why, even sure if she wants to. He tells her it isn't far, that they could be there by morning if they leave now.

So she gathers her things – the last of it, a couple of tee shirts and her weapons, _the butterfly knife,_ her canteen, and she gets in the car. They're silent the whole way, mostly because maybe there's anxiety fizzing in her gut, and it's almost alarming because after all of the emotions seemingly gone, she knows this one hasn't.

Maybe it's fear. Of the unknown – of who these people are, if she can trust them.

_What if they can't trust her?_

Maybe he can sense her tenseness, because he looks over and says her name, and she looks to him, possibly for reassurance. He tells her she'll be happy there, that they’re _good_. She smiles, because she _trusts_ him. He's been good to her – good to Nick _before_.

Her mind tore her apart. Couldn't keep her head steady. Constant nightmares, reliving it over and over again. Not just Nick, but all of them. Every single one. The grief is hard and unforgiving, ripping her apart without caring, no one there to understand. Because _he_ was her only family. No one knew him like she did. No one went through his roughest times with her. Her last tie to the world before. Who was she now? Could she still even remember?

It's like her identity goes with them because she feels empty, like a shell of herself before, like all emotion and self awareness is gone. Like she has to start over and re-navigate this world as someone new because that part of her _died_ with them.

_Maybe she wants to come home, too._

She's afraid no one will understand. That she'll be out casted because she's strange – because she can't cope with her emotions, because she’s loose, a cannon that can’t find direction, because she's empty and because she's _broken_.

The only thing she really, truly knows is that she can kill. Hasn’t lost that.

That hasn't changed, this world doesn't allow for it. The squeak in the breaks halt her thoughts and her head jerks up from its place tilted down and she looks out of the muddy windshield to see it.

_Welcome to Alexandria._

It's walls are rusted and it looks worn, but its somewhere – new – not _there_.

Her eyes inadvertently flick to his, and he can see the emotion there – the tense, the anxious, and he takes her hand. Squeezes it, and she bites back the lump in her throat, and she squeezes back. They get out when he tells her it's okay, and she immediately looks up to see the guard at the top of the wall, a rifle in hand, and she can't blame him. If she had something, _someone_ to protect, she would too.

Then wind is cold and her hair blows in her face, her fingers coming up to brush the strands away.

Morgan tells her to “come”, and she takes a breath before she rounds the car, her eyes trained on the guard, before lowering them back to the ground, then up to where Morgan gestures for her to come.

He leads her up to the gate, and the guard yells down to the person who she can only assume is behind the gate, and she watches it slowly pull open. She hears Morgan tells her it's okay, and she's thankful for him, this much she's certain, if only one thing.

She looks over and he smiles at her, and she feels her eyes threaten to let tears fall, but she holds her breath, nods back to him and gives him a same smile.

Her eyes go back in front of her and she sees a woman there, a black woman with long dreadlocks, next to a man in a camel colored button up, a graying beard and her smile drops. The feeling in her gut returns, and she realizes she's holding her breath again. She watches the man hug Morgan, something about asking how he's been and where he went.

She can feel the woman's eyes on her, and it's almost blinding. It’s intimidating, and she’s sure that she means it that way, and if it were _before_ , she’d understand. She forces her eyes to keep trained on Morgan, the one person she knows, and she tells herself to keep them averted from _her_.

After they embrace, Morgan gestures to her and she can hear her own name. It brings her back. She extends her hand and the man shakes, telling her it's nice to meet her. That's when she looks up and he's smiling at her, but she can't tell if it's genuine or if it's warning.

“Any friend of Morgan’s is a friend of mine.” He says, and his voice is almost comforting to her. The smoothness of it, the reassurance, the familiarity that she doesn’t know where it comes from. It’s enough to make her smile – a genuine smile, one that she hasn’t used in so, so long.

“I’m Rick. This is Michonne.” He says, and he gestures to the woman, and she steps forward, and its as if she can feel her demeanor lessen, and for that she’s grateful. She looks into her eyes and she can see it. The hope. The family. All in her eyes. She has it all.

She shakes her hand. Tells them she’s thankful to be here.

She’s being honest.

“Morgan’s been good to us. Figure we can return the favor.” Michonne speaks and she can hear the smile in her voice, and it’s enough to bring her to tears. The muscles in her stomach loosen, and her anxiety seems to ease, the roughness of the tension is gone and she’s so, so thankful.

“Don’t know where you been before, but this place…it’s good. You’ll be okay here.” Rick tells her, and she nods to him, thanks him.

He nods at her and motions for her to come, and she looks over to Morgan who motions that it’s okay, and she steps forward. Feels a hand come to brush her back as Rick leads her. She brings her head up to look and it’s almost too much.

The feeling of home. The houses and the streets, the trees and the flowers, the people. The community. There are kids, and they’re on bicycles, and it’s almost like before.

“We have plenty of housing, but a lot of them are occupied by families. I didn’t figure you’d wanna be alone – least not yet.” He tells her, and she looks to him, silently agreeing because _no_ , she didn’t want to be alone. Definitely not _yet_.

It’s when she brings her head back to the street in front of her that she sees him.

The gruff man standing feet away from them. Dark shaggy clothing, a leather vest the only thing over a probably ripped up button down. It’s not summer anymore, and she wonders if he’s just made this way, looking as tense as she can imagine, like stone. His face is more than unwelcoming, and he’s tan. Like he’s been out in the sun too long. His hair is long, framing his face and covering his eyes and his entire demeanor is _mean_.

It’s a rough around the edges, but rough everywhere sense and she knows immediately.

_He’s broken too._

“Daryl,” Rick calls out, and she gets goosebumps at his name, for the reason, she doesn’t know. They get closer, and he’s squinting like the sun burns his eyes, but he’s watching her – staring at her and if she thought that Rick or Michonne were intimidating, _Daryl_ was a force.

She watches him, her eyes coming to look into his, and he won’t take his eyes off her, and while it should make her look away, she won’t break it. Won’t back down, because why should she be afraid of him. She can read him. He’s just like her.

Rick stops, his boots clack and he shoves his hands in his pockets. Maybe because he knows too.

“This is Alicia, she’s gonna stay with you a while.” Rick tells him like he’s tiptoeing, like he knows that it might set him off, and thankfully it doesn’t. He continues to watch her, like prey and she the same. Extends her hand, even.

That’s when his eyes drop to her hand he _scoffs_. Dismisses her. She wants to be angry, though she’s not. Too tired to be angry.

She drops her hand and laughs to herself, though she knows he can see it, hear it – hope’s he can. Because he isn’t the only one.

Rick clears his throat, and Morgan speaks up.

“Alicia’s good people, Daryl. Just havin’ a rough go.” She keeps her eyes on his face, watches for a flicker, _something_ , but it doesn’t come. He looks over to Morgan, and nods, probably because he has to, not because he believes, and starts on his heels to back up.

He turns, and walks away – and it doesn’t surprise her because she’s been waiting since the moment he saw her. She knows he doesn’t like it – doesn’t like _her_ , and that she’s sure. It didn’t take an expert to feel it – it was blinding. Because of course she’d be put with someone who absolutely wanted nothing to do with her, probably with anyone.

“I’ll bring you there.” Michonne says, and she offers her a smile, and she looks back to Morgan who tells her to go, and she nods at him and Rick, wondering in her mind if he’s staying. Knows these were his people. Also knows there’s a reason he left.

She tenses, and moves to walk to him in an embrace. _Thanks_ him.

He looks at her, understanding between them, and tells her she’s going to be alright. Her eyes clamp shut and she can’t help it, not anymore. Her eyes begin to burn and the tears flow, seeping through her lids and down her cheeks, hot and wet, and so much more than she’s done in so long.

“This is good for you. You need to be here, with these people. You need a home, Alicia.” He’s so comforting and she’s come to care so much for him, so much more than anyone else in so long. He makes that easy. She offers one final embrace.

“I’ll be okay.” She says, and maybe its more for her, but he smiles, almost laughs and repeats it.

* * *

Michonne walks with her, and it isn’t far after they leave the two men that she speaks to her.

“Don’t know your story, but we all have one. Everyone in this world. Not just you or me. We all lose people. Got to find new.” She says, and she looks over to her, her eyes blinded by the sun, but the smile there.

“Daryl’s part of that.” She tells her, and she already knew, though she doesn’t say.

“I’ve lost everybody.” She says interrupting about him, and Michonne looks over to her, and her feet stop on the ground. She turns her body to face her, and it’s in her entire body that she understands. That she too has been here. In this place. But she has Rick, and she can tell that – but before, she’s lost too. Michonne is right – they all have.

“Daryl has too. Everyone he’s let himself care about.” Her words wound her, because she gets it immediately. Knows what she means. Knows he let someone get too close. She can already see him as someone who doesn’t untense easily, and if he has, and he’s lost them after, she _understands_.

She nods her head, and Michonne knows she gets it.

They keep walking, and they come to stop at a small house, a pale gray with a white porch, smaller than some of the others but she guesses that it’s because it’s just him. She’s invading that. She thinks they did this on purpose. Knew they needed one another.

Michonne stops at the sidewalk, tells her to go inside, and get settled. That she’d come back later to bring her over for dinner. She smiles to her, and thanks her again. It’s so much more than that though, it’s saving her, being here. It’s saving her from herself.

She hopes Michonne knows that.

She slings her bag over her back and turns around to walk inside. Walks up the small walkway and up the wooden steps to the front door. It’s unlocked, and she lets herself in. Turns back around and Michonne gives her a wave, before walking off. The screen door slams shut behind her, too loud, and she winces at the sound. Knows he heard it – if he’s here.

She moves into the foyer, and it’s eerily quiet. Thinks she knows better than to think he’s here. Calls his name. Nothing.

Her body releases a sigh that she hadn’t known she was holding, before dropping her bag onto the floor and sobbing. A full fledged, real sob. One that emits from her throat, that lump that she’d been working so hard on keeping down. It comes up, and out of her mouth and she cries.

Tears fall from her eyes more freely than they did before, because she can let go here. Can release it and hurt again. Can feel the pain ripping through her at the loss. At the anger and at the solitude. It’s defeating, this silence, and had it not been for her erupted sobs, she may have screamed.

She lets her body move backwards into the wall, sliding down until her bottom hits the floor, and her knees come up to her chest. She wraps her arms around them, bringing them close as her forehead leans on her knees.

Cries to herself.

At the image of her mom, at the pressure on Nick. The pressure of her _hands_ on Nick. All the blood. 

At the moment with Travis, Chris.

Everyone else, the death of it _all._

Her breath gets stuck in her throat and she chokes, because it’s too much too fast, not being able to get enough air in her lungs as she’s emitting out. She breathes deep and wipes her eyes. Doesn’t have time to get up before he comes busting through the door.

She nearly jumps out of her skin, and he walks inside, brooding and most certainly angry, annoyed for better term, stopping when he sees her _just_ for a moment, but her eyes travel up because it’s long enough before making this sound, this _grunt_ unlike any she’s ever heard before – like he’s got spikes in his throat, and he slams the door shut behind him. Her mind snaps back and she’s about to pull her bag towards her, but he beats her to it, kicks it to her with his foot – discounting and _disrespectful_.

She’s on fire with emotion and she can’t help it. “Hey! _Watch_ it!” She shrieks, dragging the bag to her, holding it like it’s the last thing she’s got left because it _is_. Doesn’t matter what’s in it. It’s her property – all of it, and he had this house, these people, this community, and she wasn’t stomping on it.

She’s about to sigh, exerted, when he turns around sharply and it almost scares her, the fury, when he looks at her. “Shouldn’t leave yer _shit_ on the ground.” His voice is like razorblades, and she’s astounded when it sends shock waves through her body because never in her life has this happened to her before. Never had she been affected by a man this way.

Irritated, but offended. Alarmed and intrigued and annoyed entangled in one.

She softly mutters a _sorry_ , and she hears him grunt once again, dropping his vest off of his shoulders and going to the fridge, taking a pitcher of water out. Her eyes practically light up.

She rises to her feet briskly and asks if she can have some. She’s more forward than she means to be, and maybe it’s the thought of cold water that has her _salivating_ , her throat drier than a desert, and she looks up to him, hopeful and he just _looks_ at her. It should make her uncomfortable, probably his intention.

He stares at her for what feels like an eternity and his gaze burns her skin, it’s daunting and she shouldn’t be affected because this kind of thing doesn’t bother her, since she’s stronger than this, but this man is older than her, she knows, this is his _home_ and she’s an _intruder_. She knows he doesn’t _like_ her. Made that so clear.

She rounds the counter, coming to stand next to him, and she looks up as if she’s begging, allowing for him to watch her, his gaze fierce and it _should_ break her, but it doesn’t because she’s elated, her body is thumping with need and desire and she would really just love some _water_.

He towers over her, looming, before bending down to her face and telling her to _move_.

His breath ghosts over her face and she closes her eyes at the breeze, opening them up again to see him the same distance away from her, still towering and bending to her, but she looks at him to say it silently, and she moves over almost unwillingly. He walks around her, his hip brushing hers, almost wanting to make her step in front of him and telling him to _feel_ it.

Doesn’t know him though, she hasn’t earned that.

She hears the glass clatter as he pulls one from the cabinet, walking back around and he brushes her again – maybe intentional, maybe not, but he sets the glass on the counter and pours. She’s ready to reach for it when he palms it and brings it to his lips. She follows him and furrows her brow, watching him drink nearly the entire glass. Brings it off of his lips, leaving them wet and she fights the urge to stare, while he places the glass with barely an inch of water in front of her and tells her to drink.

She scoffs, and maybe she doesn’t mean to, but she looks up at him as if he’s kidding, but he’s just watching her – staring at her like he’s trying to _break_ her and it won’t work – she can’t let it.

“Are you kidding me?” She speaks, and she doesn’t care that it’s direct – because she’s annoyed. Who does he think he is?

He looks at her like she’s disobeyed him and he snatches the glass from her hand. Dumps the water in the sink. She’s upset and annoyed and angry and that’s when he tells her she should get out.

Her mouth opens in shock, and she’s taken aback, shocked and she nearly laughs, gawking. “Excuse me?” She says, and she’s moving forward to him to grab the glass back and he tugs it away, her hand coming to rest on his wrist and she thinks she’s pushed him too far. Can feel the blaze his eyes cast on her.

Her eyes drag up until they meet his, though she doesn’t move her hand, and he looks like he’s disgusted, and maybe he is.

“I lost people, too.” She’s unaware that she’s even speaking, and before she knows it, her hand is nearly caressing his arm. Doesn’t mean to but does it anyway because she likes the feel of it in her hand, the muscles there, and she’s drawn to him like lonely birds, drawn to another, though she knows he doesn’t feel the same. Knows he’s tense and can’t wait to shove her away.

“You don’t know nothin’ about me.” He sneers at her, that grit in his voice threatening her to get away, but she doesn’t, and she tells him to “tell me then.”

Where does it come from?

He's silent and he only watches her, but she isn’t surprised. Didn’t expect him to tell her everything. So she talks instead. “I watched my brother bleed to death. Watched him die.” Her voice is breaking under emotions and she's watching him with the saddest eyes as she remembers, “I watched my brother realize that he was going to die.”

He’s staring at her through the slits of his eyes, and they’re dark – darker than she remembers on the street, and she can see the struggle. It’s the same struggle as the one inside of her.

“You can’t save everyone.” He says simply, and the words nearly scorn her because they’re direct, unforgiving and almost _mean_. Though he’s right, you can’t – not in this world. You go on anyway. His eyes almost soften as he looks at her, probably because he can see it – her pain, and she hopes that maybe he can relate to it and realize that he doesn’t need to suffer alone. She’s been doing it too long, and it hurts too much.

“I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be alright,” Her voice is soft, almost gentle because she’s afraid of scaring him away, like tiptoeing around a squirrel before you pounce. “I just need someone to talk to.” She’s continuing, pausing because she wants to make sure it’s okay. “I’ve seen what it’s like out there, and it’s all just different circles of hell. Chaos. And it _changes_ you.” She’s watching him almost tender, because she’s hurting – so badly and she knows he is too. They relate this way. “So no, I can’t save everyone. Neither can _you_. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” She pauses again, “I’m hurting, too.” She says simply, and he flicks her hand off of his wrist and she expects a shove, though when it doesn’t come, she lets out one simple word.

“Please.” Simple but not simple at all, because she’s watching him like she needs him, and she does – in this moment. The pull, the intrigue, the similar between them, it’s comforting in the most persistent way, like a tiger drawn to water.

It’s barely out of her lips before he’s pinning her against the counter, her eyes widen in surprise and then closing when his lips harshly claim her own. She’s struck, tense for a moment, her hands coming up in defense, and then her mouth moans as their bodies collide together, his hips crashing into her abdomen.

It’s wicked as his body rocks against hers, and her hands fall to find their place on his biceps, his arms coming to rest on either side of her. His hands are larger than hers, his entire body towering over her, and his lips are burning against her own, deprived and steady, though wet and greedy. His tongue presses her lips, and she opens them only slightly, but he’s pushing past them. She’s trying to keep up, her mouth moving against his just as wild, and she pulls back to look at him.

Bringing a careful finger up, thankful when he doesn’t swat it away, she traces his jawline with her fingers, stopping at his chin as she used her thumb to tilt his gaze downward towards her eyes. She searches there, and he’s looking at her as intense as she knows she’s looking at him, and she hopes that he can tell that they’re the same, that they’ve both lost too much, and that she _knows_. She breathes in a groan when his hands travel up her shirt to touch her bare hips, moving ever so slightly behind to feel the crease of her maddeningly shapely bottom.

Her breath hitches in her throat as she looks at him, and he squeezes then, their eyes connected when she grabs him by both wrists, firmly pulling his hands away before she gives him the smallest smile. Assuring. 

He looks at her like he's confused, and she reaches up to bring her lips back to his. Telling him it's okay. She can feel the pain there. The desire, the heavy need because he misses someone. Because he cared about her. Because he _misses_ her. It hurts her to imagine him hurting. Imagines it's a similar way to how she's hurting.

His hands come to find her face and he cups both of her cheeks in his hands, so much larger than the apples of her face, but his warmth is inviting, and it makes her feel safe – in a way that she hasn't felt in so long. Like this is where she should be.

She's almost gloating at the tender touch he gives her after his anguish towards her, the way he softly kisses her back when she collides her lips back with his, and where his lips are slow, hers are quick, and she bucks her hips up to tell him that there's need there. And she feels him beneath his denim, half hardened, and he moans little sounds that strum on her heart as she rocks against him. Her hands come up to tangle behind his neck. Another holding his forearm that's cradling her cheek. She murmurs the softest words against his lips and he breaks away from her, looking almost skeptical.

“I want you.” Is what she says, and she wonders if he's been lonely long. Thinking he has.

His eyes search hers for what feels like forever, and she wants to wrap him in herself because she can see the pain there – so evident, maybe he’s afraid of betraying her, or maybe he misses her too much to even imagine it. She can feel the shift in his body, and his hands move down to her breasts before she can register the movement, his hands softly kneading, and he plucks his fingers under the collar of her jacket, pushing it off of her shoulders. She shakes it off and down her arms, letting it fall to the counter behind her. Hands are back on her then, tugging the hem of her tank up, and she allows it, reaching her arms above her head to oblige, more than happy to.

He's watching her with intensity and his eyes are exploring her, over the lumps in her bra, down to her torso where her jeans meet her belly, and her hands come forward to make work at the buttons on his shirt. Though this is where he pushes her away. Takes her hands in his and firmly states a sharp “ _no_ ”.

Her hands instantly retract to her body, sorry for her action and she tenderly kisses him again, carefully as not to scare him away like a goldfish, but he doesn't retract. She's thankful and she makes work against his lips, harmonizing them with her own and she can feel his hands making work of her pants. His shaking fingers flick the button open, pulling down the zipper with intense steady, and she's the one pulling her fingers into the loops of her jeans, tugging them down. Her body is on fire with need, desire that she doesn’t recognize, her body pushing against his to allow her to wrap her hands around his arms, and he picks her up with ease.

Her bottom comes to rest in his palms, his fingers hooking unintentionally into the lace that’s so close to her core, and her body pebbles in goosebumps at the touch. Her eyes meet his and he’s watching her like she’s an experiment, like he’s fascinated, and she may be looking at him the exact same way.

His lips come to brush hers so lightly that she can only feel his breath there, and he’s walking them over to the sofa in the living room, and when he back touches the soft fabric she almost jumps. How long it’s been since she’s felt such softness on her back – the comfort of only a living room let alone a home, and it almost becomes too much. He’s there though, on her, his leg in between her own and she pushes him gently with her hand to _move_ , and the look in her eyes plucks at her heart, but she tells him it’s okay and to _sit_.

His eyes find hers, almost wary, but her hand comes to find his and she squeezes – so gentle. He sits, and her legs come to hover over his, resting on either sides of his thighs and she’s so close. Their bodies are hovering above ultimate need, and her hand brings his up to kiss his knuckles. Her lips graze each one, her eyes connecting to his, telling him it was okay, that she’d take care of him. His hand comes to tangle in the back of her hair, her curls bouncing against her bare skin in the most graceful way, and his lips crash down onto hers. He’s hungry when she’s gentle, and she thought that’s what he needed. He moves against her almost rough, and he’s hungry for touch when his other hand rounds her back to unclip her bra, and it falls loose around her breasts before she’s even ready.

Her hand drops his and she backs away, breath catching in her mouth when she looks at him in the most ravenous way. He’s too looking at her like he hasn’t had contact in so, so long.

She wonders what she was like. The woman he so clearly misses. Whether she belonged to him or was just someone he came to know. Wonders how he lost her – what happened that led him here. If he’d lost her to eaters or the real ones, not sure which option worse, and it doesn’t even matter because either way, she’s still gone, and she knows he doesn’t want to replace her. Can tell that, doesn’t need him to say it.

She doesn’t want to replace her either, knows she won’t. She was special, she’s sure, and the void inside of her of her family can’t be filled either. Not by him, and not by another. But it can make it easier. That she knows. And she wants it to be easier. For herself – and for him too. Wants to take some of his pain away, hopes he’ll do the same for her.

Her hands come to finger the collar of his shirt, her touch so gentle and soft, as if to go easy and not scare him away. They touch his skin underneath, the warm smoothness there, but the rough too because she knows he’s older than she is – probably by a lot, and maybe he’s old enough to be her dad, but even so, the world doesn’t care – not anymore and she’d be damned if she did.

Finds him worthy all the same.

His throat is muscled by years of pain and work, and the tendons there stretch when he groans out when she moves her fingers down over his shirt to touch over his chest, to his stomach, and her eyes transfix to the spot just under his throat, that little ‘V’ that’s veined and chiseled so well, and her own mouth moans when his hips jerk up to hers, eager.

He keeps his place there, pressed against her and where he was only half hardened before, he’s rock hard now, and her hands come to find home on his arms that are strained with course muscle that ripples when he moves his hands to come to rest on her hips. They press her down onto him, creating friction that feels like she’s going to burst, and her moan intensifies when he plunges himself up to rock against her, and she swears she can feel the tip of him pressing her core. The hardened circular swell, stiff into her.

He releases a sound into her neck, almost that of a wounded animal and it plays on her heart like a pick, her face coming to look at him before motioning to press back into him. He only intensifies the sound as she presses down onto him, both of their bodies pressing into one another, hard and wet, needy and hungry, and she knows he can’t take much of it.

Her fingers dip to explore, brushing against his abdomen again, feeling the tense muscles above the fabric, before fingering the waistband of his pants, slowly snapping open the button before dragging the zipper with it. It’s not like she expected much, but she’s surprised when his member springs free from his pants, held there so tightly, without any undergarments, and she hears that sound again. That deprived sound that makes her core tighten.

Again, she’s not surprised. Happy maybe.

She can feel him panting against her cheek, and when she turns to face him, he grabs her neck more than roughly, and crashes their lips together. She comes to realize that he’s starved for contact, starving, and where she thought she needed it, she can so clearly see that he needs it so much more. He’s deprived, famished, of any emotional connection and its almost sad how obvious it shows. They pant into the kiss, both of them needy.

Her hands come up to touch his face, cup his cheeks and she’s taken when he flinches, avoiding her touch, and she groans, pulling away from him and looking. His eyes tell her so much and she looks there for answer. She’s almost scorned by the power there, the grief but the anticipation, the helplessness but desire. She can feel how vulnerable he is. How even though he’d shown her how tough he can be – how much he’d tried to make her see, let her know, she’d broken through that. She’d seen him for who he really is, and it didn’t scare her and she refused to leave. Wanted to stay, practically begged. Didn’t have to try that hard, though. Knows he wanted her there just as much.

His hands find her shoulders, brushing the straps of her bra down and as soon as they move, it falls heavily between them. She doesn’t move, and he tosses the material away, never leaving her with his eyes, and he’s watching her face to make sure, like a child and she nods. Let’s him see,

His eyes cast downwards over her neck down to her chest and she watches him as he stares, her nipples hardening under his gaze and the chill air of the house, and she thinks she hears him mumble, what she doesn’t know, but his hands come up carefully to graze up her stomach and so, so gingerly to the undersides of her breasts. The touch sends shivers down her spine and she can’t help but tilt her head in the sensation, her eyes never leaving him.

Her hands come down to brush over his arms, and they come to rest on one of his legs, while the other takes him in her palm. He growls, and she smiles at the sound she’s earned. Her finger play against him, fingering the bulbous shiny tip with her thumb before wrapping him in her hand and squeezing ever so gentle. She pumps him one, two, and three times before swirling the tip again and his face tells her all she needs to know. His thumbs are pressing her nipples in his hands, and her body lets her moan, meeting his sounds with now her own, and they meet in a desperate kiss.

“Need you.” He mumbles against her lips, and she kneads him in her palm a little quicker, earning those high-pitched sounds that she’s come to love so much. She pulls away, releasing her hand from him, his eyes adverting from hers, down to her lips, over her breasts, down to her waist and stomach, and down to where she’s still clothed, and then back up again.

“Take those off.” That growl is back, and before she knows, she’s groaning and moving off him to find her feet unsteady on the floor before he leans forward, hooking his fingers in her panties and looking up at her. His eyes are dark again and she knows how much he needs this, his hands pulling the cloth down with expert motion, and he’s pulling her back to him just as quick. She’s catching up, moving back over him with her thighs, his hands all over her body but his eyes trained on hers, and she moves to where she can feel him standing straight, before her hand moves to put him right _there_ , and she _sits_. Sheaths herself onto him.

They both moan out loud, and they’re loud, but it’s pain of him stretching her body to fit him inside in the most glorious, intimate way as he’s clutching her body to him like he’s going to lose her, and it’s almost too much. Her head is dizzy with arousal, and his body reacts like he’s supposed to, his hips coming up to buck against her, his cock slamming all the way into her and she can’t help it when her head falls back and into his large warm hand. He catches her head, bringing it back up and close so that her forehead rests against his and he moves.

Thrusts out of her and pumps back in, swift and she’s keening, mewling over his face, her breath on his nose as he grunts and keens with her. Animals mating – it’s like. Two people in need of connection. Like something they’re supposed to be doing. Something they both need.

One hand finds her center, and his thumb comes to rub the nub between her folds, the rough pad quick against her and it’s sending her through space. Her eyes are rolling back. His hand steady on her head to keep her there, but she’s seeing stars and she’s calling out for him.

“Oh, Daryl, yes! That’s so good I’m gonna – _oh_!”

She’s crying out with pleasure as he thrusts up to meet her, her body enveloping him in the most natural of ways, squeezing her walls around him and it makes him cry out with her, in the most vulnerable way, and his thumb on her clit is sending her to her orgasm so much faster than she wants, but she would rather him stop. Eggs him on even.

“Please, that’s it, yes yes _yes_!” Her body is vigorous on him with convulsions, and he’s gripping her hip with his hand now, surely leaving bruises there before skimming up to her ribs, keeping her right _there_ , settled on him. He fills her entirely and her body feels almost complete, pain so far away when he twitches and throbs inside her, filling her almost too far, and she opens her eyes to look at him to see him watching her with intent, drawn in on her and she can see it in his face that he’s about to lose control. She can feel him tense as if he’s going to pull away and out, and her thighs come to squeeze him there, keep him between her and his face scrunches, almost pained those soft whines filling her ears and she can feel it when he comes. The hot ropes painting her insides with him and he’s still pounding into her, those grunts soared in her mind and she too explodes. Leaks out onto his cock and his fingers, and they’re both panting the highest pitched sounds, looking down to where they’re connected.

She sits there, on top of him as her body convulses around him, twitching and so over stimulated, but he keeps rubbing her through it, her body oozing onto him like puddles, it’s _due_. The tension there, too much and she knows he needed this just as badly, maybe even more. Knows she’s drawn to him in some twisted way that he has to be entangled in, and she’s perfectly okay with it because she doesn’t want to be alone. Can’t be alone, would _die_ alone.

She watches him as he slows his hand on her, panting and she kisses his lips so lightly she can barely feel them there. He looks up to her and kisses her back, just as gentle before pulling his hand from her. While it’s a hard release, there’s the comfort of him still inside of her, and she moves to kiss him again, deeper this time before moving to graze his cheeks, his chin, his neck.

Pulls back when she feels his fingers round around her throat, hooking into her chin and resting on her jaw.

“Her name was Beth.” He’s so quiet, and so sad, and the look inside of his eyes brings tears into her own. She can’t help the lump back in her throat, and she lets it escape through her mouth, nodding with understanding.

“His name was Nick.” She says just as quiet, and he nods back to her, his eyes the same reflection as her own.

It’s a mutual understanding. It’s two broken people coming together not to fix what’s destroyed, but to patch over it. Maybe like a band-aid on a wound, though not temporary.

A stitch – maybe several. Threading the skin closed and allowing it to heal together, _one_ again but still, always scarred.


End file.
